Memories of You
by Kamakiri
Summary: I suppose... I'm one of those unlucky people. Y'see, I remember everything. Because of that, I know I've lived more than once. I'm human, I swear, it's true. But... I think I'm cursed, or something. All because of him. (USUK, AU. Might contain traces of implied sex. T for violence and feels; you have been forewarned.)
1. Prologue

_My first USUK :3_

_Based off My Name is Memory (well, taking inspiration from there, but not completely following the plot line :3)_

_Hope you guys like!_

_It will be written in both first and third person (don't worry; I has my reasons)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia~_

_Prologue_

I suppose... I'm one of those unlucky people.

Y'see, I remember everything. Because of that, I know I've lived more than once.

I'm human, I swear, it's true.

But... I think I'm cursed, or something.

All because of him. Well, what I did, involving him.

I remember that first time I saw him...

He was younger, so was I...

But it was ages ago. I mean, literally; ages.

It was in Roman times when I saw him; around 117AD.

I'll never forget that day.

OmOmO

We were running through a forest, just a young man named Aulus and I. In that life, my name was Adeodatus; Adeo for short. We had split up from our main group, scouting back to make sure things were safe.

Naturally, they were.

That night, we set out to attack the village we had been told to attack. I ran past chicken coops, tripping over random crates on my way past the houses, torch in hand.

I heard yells coming from a little while away, so I picked up my pace, striding up some steps and tossing the flame inside, watching eagerly as the fire caught on a rug and quickly spread. I ducked back out, sprinting down the steps and, barely making it past the first set of chickens, tripped over, spraining my ankle.

I cried out weakly, gripping it and glancing over at the house. Then I realised; it wasn't a simple peasants abode. It was the type a priest would live in; simple but close to the church.

And standing in the door way was him.

His eyes were wide as the flame licked viciously behind him, the corner of his robes catching on fire.

He was young, probably eight; a face full of innocence and promise. A face full of fear and anger.

I stumbled to my feet, holding out my hand towards him.

"I'm sorry!" I cried, eyes filling with tears. I was hell bound now, for sure, but that wasn't why I was crying.

He hesitated, moving forward, towards me.

Just before he reached me; he fell to his knees, the flame having spread.

I had to be dragged back to camp by Aulus, whom later told me I was insane, "constantly muttering 'I'm sorry' "

Two days later, I took a dagger to the stomach and died a slow and painful death. Earlier that day, I found out that the boy I killed (accidentally) was the son of the Priest.

OmOmOmO

Apparently, though, karma didn't think that was fair enough. And God decided to hate me from then on, for killing one of his disciples' children.

It's weird. We're both reborn in random cycles.

I'm never alive for anything noteworthy or cool; no revolutions for me. Or if I am; I'm too poor at that stage to notice.

Sometimes we're not even the same age.

Two things are always the same, though; I'm always in love with him and he never ever remembers me.

His name is never the same, though, neither is mine.

And though, technically, that first time I saw him was literally the first time... I never found out his name that time. The second time, which I count as the proper first, I did.

No matter what, I always get this feeling that maybe the reason I've been stuck with this is because, well, we're meant to be.

We've died together... four times.

And as cliché as it sounds; I think I'd still die for him, even now.

:::::


	2. Chapter 1

I know, I took a little longer than I would've liked to write this but here it is; chapter 1!

R it makes me happy :3 *sobs* so happy.

A shout out to my silent readers, and a hug to Amy Kitty Katz for the review; thanks so muuuuch!

_Chapter 1_

"C'mon! You need to come to the party!"

Arthur sighed, making sure his phone was on loudspeaker before he put it down and continued packing his clothes.

"Francis, how many times must I remind you; I don't do parties."

"... It's your farewell party?"

He snorted, rolling his eyes.

Well, he was leaving; due to go back to Britain tomorrow afternoon, after three years of living in the US as a foreign exchange student.

"I'm not the only one who's going, frog." he said dryly, "I know very well that this party is for _your _friends."

The Frenchman was silent for a moment, so Arthur took the chance to take one of his bags out of his room and downstairs, happy that the family he was staying with were out and thus; he didn't have to deal with their two children running around and overall, being annoying.

He put the bag down just to the side of the hallway and went back upstairs, nearly losing it when he heard Francis continuously calling his name.

"What?"

"Kiku's going to be there, he is leaving, too, you know."

"Oh, he is?"

Francis sniggered.

"I thought you were friends, thus you knew."

"Shut the fuck up! I had a mental blank. I'm under stress a-"

"Then come to the party!"

The Brit fell silent, glaring at the phone.

The two were reluctant friends, had been ever since Arthur had started at the high school; when Francis had been put in charge of showing him around. They had a strange friendship; hating each other somewhat, but never really able to end what they had (or in Francis' mind, what they didn't quite have)

"You just want to get me wasted and have sex with me, don't you?"

"You are so mean, Arthur!" Francis whined, "I'm not that desperate! No, I just..." he sighed "You don't have to come. There's just-"

Arthur promptly hung up on him, then turned his phone off, not particularly caring if the idiot called back.

X.x.X.x.X

_Three hours later._

It had taken an hour to finish packing and after about ten minutes of sitting in his now bare room, staring at the ceiling, Arthur gave up. He had gotten to his feet, grabbing his jacket and the spare keys before locking up and leaving the house, walking the two blocks to Francis' house.

The streets were empty; only the occasional car driving past him. The trees were bare, and leaves still drifted on the cold wind down the street, but the crisp air held the promise of the warm days to come. Well, the warm days that the Weatherman kept promising, anyway.

It was early Spring, three and a half weeks in, to be precise.

He nearly turned right around when he had reached the house. Music blared loudly from inside; a mix of foreign pop and old Metallica making him mentally cringe.

Why was he here again?

The answer came in the form of Gilbert wrenching the door open and, upon seeing him, scooping him into a drunken hug.

"My favourite blonde!" the German boy crowed, grinning lopsidedly as he held the door open for him.

Gingerly pushing him away and stepping inside, Arthur sighed and cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh, great to know you have a favourite, but I thought your blondes were bustier and total cake faces." he said caustically, knowing the drunkard wouldn't catch onto his sarcastic words. He ignored the half drunken bottle the albino proffered, moving past him and into the expansive converted drawing room- currently, a studio for Francis' mother's art works; though, for every single party thrown there, it was used as the main room.

The walls were lined with meticulously painted bridges, ships, and- what Arthur had remarked once, years ago, as being 'just bare-arse perversion'

A simple mahogany, thin grained dining table had been brought into the room and upon it sat numerous platters and bowls, as well as a few empty plastic cups.

"For the last time, Svin'ya, I ask you; what did you say?"

Arthur turned, searching for the source of the voice he had heard, loud and clear. He found not one, but three teenagers facing each other off- though one was close to anothers' side, muttering things to him- just outside of the studio, in the kitchen.

The two closest to the doorway where he was standing; a mere two metres away, both had their backs to him. He knew the taller one was Russian, by his accent, and the slender, dark haired one was of Asiatic decent from his looks and slight accent.

The third was... Handsome, to say the least. Never before had Arthur felt so besotted with someone. In plain English; he wanted that gorgeous, tall, extremely attractive, blonde haired, blue eyes adonis. Bad.

"'Get fucked', Commie. That's what I said."

The Russian took a few steps closer, but for every step forward, the other moved back, until he was nearly against the wall, one hand slowly reaching for the nearest thing.

"Why do-"

"Russia's still Communist, isn't it?"

The Russian slammed his fist into his stomach, dodging a blow to the head.

"Keep your mouth shut, Svin'ya. Then maybe I won't kill you."

Another dodge.

"Ivan, you and I both know its inevitable. You're just being a wuss."

The American's closed fist swung up, directly hitting Ivan's nose, followed by a knee to the stomach.

Ivan grabbed him by the shoulders, dragging the struggling teen towards him, slamming him back into the wall, then letting him go.

"I will win." he whispered almost gleefully."

Francis hurried into the room, eyes sceptical as he looked around at the massing crowd in the kitchen. He spotted the semi-unconscious boy and sighed.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Al? If you break anything, _I _will kill you myself." he muttered, going over to him and slipping an arm under his shoulders, heaving him to his feet.

Ivan stepped back, nudging the second boy Arthur now recognised as being Yao Wang, one of the more respectable people at the school.

The two of them moved out of the room, the rest of the crowd watching them go in silence.

"Anyone know First Aid?"

A few drunkards put up their hands, but Francis ignored them, glancing at Arthur's vaguely raised hand and nodded slightly.

"I can walk by myself, Francis..." the boy mumbled, wiping his mouth.

The young Frenchman sighed, keeping a firm grip on him as he led both he and Arthur to a small courtyard, away from the noise of the music and people. He left them for a moment to retrieve the first aid kit and a damp cloth, but once that was in Arthur's hands, he was gone again.

Arthur turned to the other, quietly sitting next to him on the bench that lined the courtyard, reaching up to dab gently at his face, their eyes meeting briefly.

"I'm Arthur, by the way." he said at length, gaining a grin.

"I figured... Name's Alfred. Nice to meet you, Arthur."

Arthur nodded slightly, trying to avoid staring at him too much.

"... I feel like I know you or something..." he blurted out, putting down the cloth.

Alfred tilted his head, watching Arthur closely.

"Kiku stayed at my place; my family played host to him, if that helps."

He knew he was playing dumb; that look in his eyes wasn't just plain old admiration. It was a longing Arthur had _never _seen before. He shook his head, going to move away a little.

"Ah, I remember hearing that... No, I mean you're familiar from somewhere... Your face, voice..-" Arthur blushed, "Sorry, you probably think I'm weird."

"No way... Not at all. So, do you remember me?"


End file.
